


and night comes to Tallahassee

by radiodurans



Category: One Direction (Band), Tallahassee - The Mountain Goats (Album)
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Alpha Couple, Alternate Universe - American, Alternate Universe - Tallahassee (Mountain Goats Album), And you my dear reader are welcome to either scratch your head or cheer on their imminent divorce, Being Gay is Pretty Straight, Dysfunctional Relationships, Gender Dysphoria, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Sex Work, Implied/Referenced Transmisogyny, In which I simultaneously write a Lirry genderqueer AU and an alpha couple fix-it fic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Male Homosociality, Nonbinary Harry Styles, Other, Transfeminine Harry Styles, Vignette, bad coping mechnisms
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25212982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radiodurans/pseuds/radiodurans
Summary: Rubbing his eye with exhaustion, Harry steps out of the car. He leans against the hood, straddling the lights, feeling the heat of the engine breathe between his thighs. Above him, the moon flickers behind the clouds. He imagines the sky opening like a giant mouth to expel celestial agents of destruction, vanishing himself and the house and Liam and their car into the awesome void.OrLiam and Harry move to Tallahassee.
Relationships: Liam Payne/Harry Styles
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. Tallahassee

**Author's Note:**

> This is posting as a WIP because. . .honestly I just love posting things as works in progress. I realize this causes readers pain and I do understand if you would prefer to wait for this to be finished before you read it. 
> 
> This is not a strict Tallahassee AU - there is no character death at the end. Other than that the adaptation is pretty similar so - content warning for Tallahassee!
> 
> Please do not send Mx. Harry Styles this fic. Any resemblance to persons living or dead are coincidental yadda yadda etc. I make no claims about Harry Styles' actual sexuality or gender within this story. Think of it as a roman a clef with the real names still tacked on.
> 
> Title, of course, from Oceanographer's Choice by the Mountain Goats.

Harry’s body is still hot with sleep when they leave for Tallahassee. Because Harry is useless this early in the morning, Liam has agreed to drive the first shift. He’s been waking up at five AM for the past three months to work his soul-sucking assistant manager job at Arby’s, so he’s used to being alert at this time of day. Harry wonders idly if he’s taken stimulants in preparation for the drive, then decides he doesn’t care. They need to get out of here; it doesn’t matter how.

He yawns and rolls the window down with its squeaky crank. Maybe the breeze will help him wake up. Unfortunately, the air outside of the car is hot and heavy when it blows in his face. He winces, rolls the window back up, and prays for the air conditioner to start working instead.

Liam comes to a rolling stop when they pass by Anne’s house.

“You sure you don’t want to say goodbye?” he says.

Harry grips the handle of the door with a shaking hand. He knows what his mom would say which is why he can’t tell her he’s leaving. She’s convinced him to stay in California for twenty-six years and it’s going to fucking kill him if he’s here a single day longer.

Liam’s own mother seems rather indifferent about his whereabouts. Harry feels guilty about not being as sad for him about this as he thinks he should be. All of the sadness that doesn’t belong to him hits his heart like drops in a full bucket. Too often, necessary empathy spills out of the sides, and he’s left feeling like a faker. _Maybe when we’re alone_ , he thinks, _I’ll feel things the way I’m supposed to_.

“Just keep going,” says Harry. Liam nods and speeds up a little to get on to the highway.

Harry unlocks his phone and scrolls through the camera roll to gaze at the photographs of their new house. It’s not every day someone his age gets a chance like this – a friend of a friend calling to say, _you can have it as long as you can fix it_. His fingers tremble as they zoom in on the photographs, finding every broken board and patch of mold he’s seen a thousand times before. The thought of fixing it, of having a project, sends a little thrill up his spine. It’s been a long time since he’s had a project unrelated to the equation – _if I post 12 photos on OnlyFans and cam privately for four clients and recruit for three hours on Twitter_ –

That kind of math isn’t leaving his life – a girl’s gotta eat – but a side task will help break the monotony of smiling at ugly men for money. Home repairs and sex work – the Madonna and the whore all in one. He smiles at his own joke and pockets his phone. _God_ , if he were a woman he’d be an _amazing_ wife.

Too bad he’s not.

Liam fusses with the radio until he lands on a top 40 channel with annoying hosts that Harry hates. Harry chews on a thumbnail to avoid saying anything mean. On a good day Liam can drive five hours without breaks, and Harry doesn’t want to pick up the wheel before 10. If he’s short with Liam he’ll throw a tantrum and force Harry to drive much earlier than he wants to.

“You know, I’ve never been to Florida,” says Liam after a barrage of ads, offensive jokes, and zero songs have assaulted Harry’s ears. “Think it will be warm down there?”

The question is so stupid that Harry can’t help but give Liam an incredulous look. He should be used to the bonkers words that come out of Liam’s mouth by now but, somehow, he’s not.

“It’s in the south. Why wouldn’t it be warm there?” says Harry.

“Well, I saw on a map that it’s all surrounded by water. Thought it might cool the state down.”

He roots around in the cupholder until he grasps his vape pen. Harry rolls down the window before Liam even turns it on. The smell doesn’t actually bother him that much; he just wants Liam to know that he doesn’t like it. As usual, Liam is oblivious, rolls down his own window, and vapes anyway.

“Tallahassee’s hot. It’s inland,” says Harry. The air is whipping his hair in his face, so he ties his hair up with a scrunchie from his wrist. He can see Liam watching him out of the side mirror with a soft look on his face. Harry blushes at his naked fondness.

“Really glad you wanted me to come along,” says Liam. “Didn’t like thinking about you down there all alone.”

He puts down his vape pen, grabs Harry’s hand, and gives it a little squeeze. It shouldn’t light up Harry’s skin – he _knows_ anything romantic or sexual is out of the question – but his body betrays him. Harry squeezes Liam’s hand back before he pulls it away.

“You just didn’t want to find a new roommate,” says Harry. Liam gives him a little smile, and fusses with the radio station again.

On and on they drive, hours stretching into days, jokes stretching into arguments and arguments stretching into jokes. For three nights they share a motel room with one queen sized bed and wake with legs entangled. They finally pull into the Tallahassee house at dusk, quieting as they drink in the site of their new home. Liam puts the car in park; it hums as it idles.

The house is enormous, far too big for two people, and far too much work for one. Several of the shutters are hanging precariously off of the windows. Any paint that was left over in the pictures on Harry’s phone has removed itself from the house via rain and time. Their new yard is overgrown with tall grass and trees that have dropped rotted fruit onto the pavement. Even the concrete patio and driveway are littered with holes and trash blown from god-knows-where.

 _Fuck_. They’ve come so far, and he hates it already.

Rubbing his eye with exhaustion, Harry steps out of the car. He leans against the hood, straddling the lights, feeling the heat of the engine breathe between his thighs. Above him, the moon flickers behind the clouds. He imagines the sky opening like a giant mouth to expel celestial agents of destruction, vanishing himself and the house and Liam and their car into the awesome void.

Liam turns off the car, steps outside, and shuts the door with his foot. He wipes his damp forehead with his palm as he leans against the car next to Harry.

“You were right. It _is_ warm here,” he says.

Harry rests his head on Liam’s shoulder. The clouds drift and obscure the moon as though not even she can bear to look at his dread.

“Let’s go inside,” says Harry.

As one, they open the trunk, grab their suitcases, and begin to move into their new home.


	2. First Few Desperate Hours

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a heads up - yes, I did delete my tumblr. Everything is fine - I'm starting a new job soon and I'm trying to clear my head. If you need to message me, all of my other contacts are in my ao3 profile. 
> 
> Some of these chapters are going to be shorter than others by nature.

Two days after they move in, a small moving truck greets them in Tallahassee. The arrival of this truck is a _hotly_ contested issue between Harry and his mother, who he believes cannot afford something like this. Liam tries to not listen in on their conversations too much. He knows it’s none of his business and he feels jealous that Harry has someone who cares about him enough to sink money into a moving truck. His own mother didn’t even return his text goodbye when he left.

Both movers watch Harry walk down the driveway with narrowed eyes. Peering through the window, Liam sees one of the movers clock Harry’s swaying hips and thinks – oh, _God_. They don’t shake his hand when he attempts to greet them with a smile. A lead weight settles in his stomach as Harry’s face falls. He rushes out the door to go greet them himself.

“Hello, boys!” says Liam. He holds out his own hand to shake and throws his shoulders back. The movers size him up and down and, one by one, return the handshake. One of them even cracks a smile.

“Hi. We’re here to move in a load sent by Anne Twist?”

“My mom,” says Liam before Harry can interject. The movers seem like the type to mess up anything that might be Harry’s, and they can’t really afford much new furniture right now.

One of the movers nods and hands him a clipboard.

“Sign here,” he says.

After he signs, the other mover opens up the truck. Harry runs to inspect the inside with wide, watering eyes. Liam shoves his hands in his pocket and wanders over, playing casual. He feels equal parts impressed and exhausted looking at it. It’s not enough items to fill their entire house but it’s a pretty damn good start.

“Anne did well,” he says, bumping his hip into Harry’s.

Harry wipes at his teary eye with the butt of his palm.

“Yeah. She did.”


	3. Southwood Plantation Road

_Aaaaand just a reminder – the Tallahassee Flea Market now expects you to bring your own canvas bags when you go shopping. Prepare before you head on down!_

Harry groans and smacks at the radio alarm to get it to shut up. He doesn’t really _need_ an alarm to work from home, but it helps him stay grounded. Besides, Liam sleeps in Harry’s bed about half of the time, and his alarm in the other room is too far away to wake him for his early shifts. They don’t talk about why the _very not gay_ Liam chooses to curl around Harry on nights when he gets particularly drunk, which is probably for the best. He knows from experience that pulling _that_ thread is a great way to put Liam on defense, and he’d rather be cuddled instead.

Behind him, Liam’s breathing changes. The alarm has woken him too.

“Don’t have to work today,” he says. His arms tighten around Harry’s chest and stomach. He yawns, nests his nose in Harry’s hair, and breathes deeply. Liam loves his shampoo.

“We should go to the flea market,” says Harry. “Check out their wares.”

“Sounds good,” says Liam, though he doesn’t budge. Harry settles in his arms, allowing the cuddling to go on a little longer.

Several hours later, they’re out on the town. Harry’s in a pink tank, daisy dukes, and flip flops because it’s hot outside and he doesn’t give a shit who stares. There’s a surprising number of other gender-not-normals and queers wandering around the flea market. A few of them even have booths set up selling crystals, jewelry, and music. They spot him and smile and he waves back. He hadn’t expected so many queers in this part of Florida but it’s a very welcome discovery.

Liam gets in a deep insufferable discussion about model trains with an antiques seller right away, so Harry spends a lot of time wandering around on his own. He buys a few crystals even though they’re not usually his thing because the person selling them is really cute. Most of the custom jewelry is expensive so he allows himself to luxuriate in trying different pieces on that he knows he won’t buy.

Harry is trying on a white gold ring with a pearl inset when Liam catches up to him. He startles Harry with a hand on his back; his bag full of used train tracks clacks against his side.

“What did you find?” he says. Liam rests his chin on Harry’s shoulder and stares down at the delicate ring taking up residence on Harry’s left ring finger. Harry blushes. He’d been lost in thought about the time his mother allowed him to try on the engagement ring Robin gave her. Even then he knew he’d never walk down the aisle like her – but it was so fun to _dream_.

“Just a ring.” says Harry. Liam grabs his hand and pulls it closer to his own face. He thumbs over the pearl.

“It’s pretty,” says Liam. “How much is it?”

“All the rings are $300. Non-negotiable,” says the bejeweled seller, not looking up from her Sudoku.

“We’ll take it,” says Liam. Harry frowns, pulls away from Liam, and walks a few steps away from the booth. He beckons Liam over when he doesn’t automatically follow.

“We don’t have expensive jewelry money,” says Harry. Liam grabs at his hand again to inspect the ring again. Harry can’t bring himself to pull away. He knows the pretty ring _can’t_ look as pretty on his huge hand as Liam seems to think it does – but the _dream_ that is always lurking beneath the surface –

“I just got paid and we have credit. You work on the house and on your. . .other stuff all day. When was the last time you got something nice?” says Liam.

Harry sighs. It _has_ been a really long time.

“It is a nice ring, isn’t it?” he says, wiggling his fingers in Liam’s hand. Above his head, Liam gives the shopkeep an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Harry laughs, a rare light feeling flowing through his entire body. The thrill of the purchase, or of being loved properly.

Liam drops his bag of train tracks at his feet and surprises Harry with a hug.

“You should get earrings too,” he says, lips grazing Harry’s cheek. Harry laughs again.

“Okay. Just this once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm too in love with this AU Harry. Is it healthy to love a character you made up this much? Does it affect the narrative positively or negatively? Choose your own adventure!


	4. Game Shows Touch Our Lives

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meant to have this up yesterday but then the edits it required were too extensive and I got lazy lol. Hope you like it. A bit NSFW but not porn.

Harry falls asleep in his lap that night, long hair spilling over Liam’s leg and onto their worn couch. Liam strokes his fingers through it as he flips through infomercials on TV. He’s had enough beer to smooth his edges, but it doesn’t help him sleep like it used to. Maybe it’s because Harry always falls asleep first. It’s hard to not watch over him, knowing all the shit he’s been through. He’s half-convinced that one day he’s going to wake and Harry will have been stolen away.

Infomercials gradually change into TV static. The house creaks menacingly. It’s harder to hear when they’re upstairs so Liam decides to take them there. He’s become adept at lifting Harry ever since they moved here. Liam lifts him bridal style up the stairs. As they go along, Harry stirs.

“Bed?” he murmurs.

“Yeah, bed,” says Liam.

He carries Harry into his own room and places him in bed. Harry wraps himself in the covers, curling up into a little ball like a kitten. Liam stands by the window and looks down at the highway below. Tiny cars zip past without a thought spared for Tallahassee. He wonders where they’re going this late, if they have wives and kids to come home to.

Liam always thought he’d have a wife and a kid by now. Instead, he just has –

“Will you stay?” asks Harry. Liam shivers; they don’t usually talk about Liam’s tendency to stay the night. When he looks at Harry, his eye catches at the ring glinting on his finger. He’s still wearing it on his left hand as though it is a wedding band. 

Liam sits down on the bed. After a moment of contemplation, he draws his legs up and over so that he’s facing Harry’s back. He rests his forehead on Harry’s shoulder and wraps his arms tightly around Harry’s bare chest. His heart beats hummingbird-fast against Harry’s back. It’s so hard to let himself have even this, to not feel like he’s taking something that doesn’t belong to him.

The house gives a great  _ creak _ that startles him before it settles again. Harry entwines his hand with Liam’s - and something else shifts _.  _ Tentatively, Liam pulls Harry’s hair aside and presses his lips to the back of Harry’s neck. 

“Oh my god,” sighs Harry. Liam kisses up his neck and over to his ear.

“Yeah,” he says, though he’s not sure what he’s agreeing to. He wants -  _ everything _ . Harry’s pretty hair and his soft tits and his pink mouth and his delicate fingers and toes. Asking for everything he wants feels like a request to eat Harry alive.

“You need to know - I’m not normal in bed,” says Harry as Liam runs his hands down Harry’s thighs. He’s too dick-stupid to process what Harry might consider  _ not normal _ . Nothing about this is  _ normal _ but he wants all of it anyway.

“We’ll figure it out,” says Liam. His trembling hand ghosts over Harry’s dick in his sweatpants. Harry gasps before jerking his hips away.

“I’m not a boy in bed. I’m, like -” he swallows hard, easing back on Liam’s cock. “I’m a girl here. So I don’t want you to touch it naked.”

The thought of Harry-as-girl-in-bed nearly fries Liam’s entire brain. For so many years he’s been fretting over Harry being the  _ only exception  _ \- and all along he hasn’t been.

_ She _ hasn’t been, maybe.

“Anything you want,” he says into Harry’s hair. “All of it. It’s all fine.”

Harry turns around, wriggling tight in his arms, and tangles her hands in Liam’s hair. She kisses him on the mouth, hard, hot breath panting down Liam’s throat. Her ankle hooks neatly against Liam’s ankle like a missing puzzle piece. Harry rocks against him, never coming, just breathing.

When Harry tires out, she turns around again. Liam keeps her pulled tight to himself, ignoring his discomfort over the sticky mess in his own pants. He presses his hand to Harry’s stomach and she entwines their fingers again. The steady rhythm of her breathing finally anchors Liam to sleep.


	5. The House That Dripped Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this way too late (though not the latest I have posted anything). Hope you like it!
> 
> Content warning for mention of Robin's death, mentions of sex work, mentions of alcoholism, gender dysphoria, and implied attempted assault by a stranger in the past. Also, for deep discussion of a dilapidated house and repairs. I realize this is a niche content warning but it's actually very personal to me that could potentially be triggering and is something I personally would like warned for in a story so - if it's something you would also like to be warned for, I offer it up gladly.

Harry wakes up before the sun does that morning. He checks the time – 5:30 AM – and groans. In unconscious response to Harry’s stirring, Liam wraps tighter around him. Everything from the night before hits Harry all at once like an electric shock. He pulls out of Liam’s arms and rolls out of bed, lit up like a live wire. Harry watches Liam re-settle with bated breath before he leaves the room. Waking Liam is the last thing he wants while he’s dealing with, well, everything that happened last night.

He can’t bear to look at his own face just yet, so he takes his morning piss with the lights off. His hands feel too big as he rubs them over his face. Liam’s ring is as warm as his skin. Harry bites the underside, clacking the metal between his teeth. Perhaps it would be less childish to explore the ring by taking it off, but he can’t seem to bear it. His mouth will have to do until he likes the thought of being married a _lot_ less than he does right now.

 _Fuck –_ “being married.” Harry groans audibly at his own delusion. One drunk half-fuck with his heteroflexible roommate of three years combined with a tiny piece of gold jewelry and his brain is constructing elaborate husband-and-wife fantasies. Absolutely ridiculous – the _and wife_ most of all. He’s not a woman – at least, not in the way Liam probably wants.

“Straight people,” he mutters to himself while washing his hands. Harry keeps his eyes averted from the mirror as he does so. Someone once told him as a kid that looking in a mirror with the lights off would turn your eyes red if you had demons living inside you. He might be non-religious as an adult, but part of him still believes that stupid story and is too nervous to figure out if it’s true. At the very least, he doesn’t want to chance the visual confirmation of the very worst parts of himself.

The house is a bit cold this early, so he shrugs on an oversized shirt from the top of the bathroom hamper. It’s one of Liam’s oldest and hole-iest shirts; Harry has complained about him wearing it in public before. Now, it breezes around Harry’s hips, dress-like, as he ghosts through the still crumbling house. He presses his back to the wall that faces the landing of the rotting wooden staircase and thinks – inventory.

First – stairs. Three that are jump-stairs and one that is wobbly. They’re bringing in a subcontractor when there’s money, but there never seems to be money. The ring was the first expensive thing they bought in ages and the quote they got on the stairs was far more expensive.

(This, ultimately, was what talked Harry down from getting earrings too. Saving won’t help, really, but it feels good to try.)

Peeling paint and wallpaper in the living room and the office they don’t use on the first floor. Harry’s been repainting and scraping old wallpaper whenever he can, but it always goes _so_ slowly. Liam never has time or energy after he gets home from work and he doesn’t want to do it on his days off. It’s hard to not resent him – Harry, after all, works too – but to insist he’d have to talk about how hard sex work is. . .and he doesn’t want to do that.

The Formica on the kitchen counters is peeling – for now, another unwinnable battle. Ants have invaded, fatter than any he’s seen anywhere else. Every day he carefully lays out different types of traps to see what will make them leave but they just keep _coming_. He’s told Liam a thousand times to not leave food out on the counter, but he never seems to retain it so – ants for days.

The half bath downstairs is sealed shut. It’s been leaking noxious odors ever since they moved in, and Liam’s plumber friend from work hasn’t come to check it out yet. Harry doubts the abilities of plumber who needs a side gig at Arby’s but they can’t really afford one otherwise. The holdup is really Harry’s fault, in this case. Two years ago, one of Liam’s ‘helpful work friends’ tried to assault him on the pretense of coming over to fix their television. He hasn’t wanted to be alone with any of them ever since. Since the schedules haven’t coincided yet, locking the bathroom door and hoping for the best will have to do.

Harry opens the cellar door and looks down its gaping mouth. The stairs are lit by a swinging single lightbulb affixed to a metallic string. He exhales, steeling himself, and heads down the rickety staircase. His nose tickles, sensing the mold infestation. The unfinished basement has obviously been flooded multiple times – including now. His feet make a squelching sound when they step onto the damp carpet. Previous residents had been kind enough to rip up damaged carpeting in all of the other rooms of the house. . .save the basement. Calling his friends who gave them the house to chew them out about the basement (e.g. the room conveniently left out of their photographs) produced nothing but frustration.

 _Everything was like that when we got there,_ they had said. _That’s why we were only there for three months._

On days when he’s scraped so much mold from his bedroom that he wants to cry, he considers resenting his friends. Harry shakes it out of his mind with the knowledge that they’re poor too. Whatever shady real estate developer sold them this house on a dime is really the one to blame. He just took it off their hands when they couldn’t stand it anymore.

They have a fridge down here, tucked away in a closet behind a rotting bookshelf they inherited with the house. Rather – _Liam_ has a fridge down here that he thinks Harry doesn’t know about. Harry tucks himself inside and opens it to inspect the contents. Less beer than yesterday but more vodka – he’d been running out. He drinks a lot, covertly, and thinks Harry doesn’t notice. It’s fine – he’s not an angry drunk. Mostly, he cries, and Harry gives him the comfort he can barely give himself. And the times when he shuts himself in his own room and he throws things and yells until he’s hoarse, until he’s silent –

It hasn’t happened much since they moved to Tallahassee. They’ve been happy, even when they haven’t been. They’re less unhappy than California unhappy, which makes the happy times happier. Maybe one day they will lift and lift until California and Tallahassee unhappy are unmemorable. When their house is beautiful; when minimum wage pays better than sex work; when employers don’t laugh him out of the room.

He indulges in even greater flights of fancy as he backs out of the basement. Maybe they’ll become college educated. Maybe they’ll make $100,000 a year. Maybe Harry will transition. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Harry sits on the damp steps and fiddles with his ring. He presses the tip of his tongue against the glistening pearl inset and wonders where it came from. Harry hasn’t met any oysters in person since Robin’s wake. He always liked them and that was the last time they could afford them. Something about the pearl feels like Robin’s blessing. About his sort-of-relationship but. . .about other things too. He’s taken to a _lot_ of wishful thinking as of late that Robin would have accepted him as anything but a son. Harry was too much of a coward to ask before he died. It’s not the only reason he hasn’t taken the leap but – it’s an excuse.

“Harry?” Liam calls from upstairs. He sounds sleepy, which makes Harry feel unbearably soft. Then, his stomach clenches. He knows – he _knows_ that Liam is going to want to gender him in a _certain way_ that Harry might not be ready to try himself. It’s fine during sex (he does it all the time with clients) but bringing his weird kink into reality? The very idea is just –

He’s going to break the ring with his teeth, or swallow it whole, maybe.

“Coming!” he says, stumbling up the stairs. Liam is waiting for him at the mouth of the cellar, hair stuck up in the back, bloody-mary ready. Sundays they go to Denny’s and forget about the peeling paint and the bathroom and the ants and the holes in all of their clothes.

“Hey,” says Liam with a little smile. This morning, Harry pushes his body flush against Liam, the way he’s wanted all of the Sundays before. This morning, Liam kisses him. His mouth tastes like toothpaste, and Harry thinks – _maybe I can have this after all._ Then, _she_ kisses Liam again.


	6. Idylls of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a (non-Tallahassee) playlist! For your potential reading pleasure - a Beach Boys playlist:
> 
> Don’t Worry Baby  
> Wouldn’t it be Nice  
> California Girls  
> Til I Die
> 
> This chapter is also NSFW but not totally pornographic.

They decide to formalize their marriage at a courthouse two months later. Neither of their moms can afford to fly out to Florida for a wedding, so Harry and Liam facetime themselves signing the marriage certificate in the courthouse. When they’re back inside their car, papers in hand, Liam slides a second white-gold band onto Harry’s finger. Harry reciprocates and gives him a kiss for good measure.

He takes a surprise detour to Lafayette Heritage Park on their way back to the house. Harry doesn’t notice they’ve changed course at first. She won’t stop looking at the marriage certificate, tracing over their names with her thumb.  _ Liam Payne & Harry Payne.  _

Fuck, he may never get used to that either.

When they pull onto the bumpy dirt road, Harry looks up from the marriage certificate. Her face lights up in recognition. Lafayette Heritage Park is her favorite of the local nature preserves. Liam knows she often goes walking here while he’s at work. With its massive shimmering lake and hundreds of trees, it’s easy to see why. Here, Harry can simply exist away from judgemental eyes.

“Pull off to the side,” she says when they approach an area with space and shade. Liam pulls their slight sedan into the clearing. In a way, he’s grateful their large van broke down several months earlier. This trade fits their life much better. It feels less empty when there aren’t six seats.

Harry blasts the air conditioning and plugs her phone into the jack. She puts on a playlist -  _ This is: The Beach Boys  _ \- and leans her head onto Liam’s shoulder. Together, they sway to the opening of  _ Don’t Worry, Baby.  _ This is the only part of California that Harry likes - the people who mythologized the state a half-century ago, their loves and losses, and the music they made.

_ Well it’s been building up inside of me for oh I don’t know how long. . .I don’t know why but I keep thinking something’s bound to go wrong. . .but she looks in my eyes. . .and makes me realize. . .and she says, “don’t worry baby”. . .everything will turn out alright. . . _

She mouths along to the lyrics without singing - Harry’s voice, to her chagrin, has never gone this high. Liam hums along clumsily underneath the melody. He squeezes her hand. Above them, the trees rustle in the breeze and shake leaves onto the roof of the car. They’re kissing feverishly by the end of the song. Her hands are on the collar of his ridiculous tuxedo t-shirt; his hands grasp the hem of her pretty floral sundress that she was so fucking  _ brave _ to wear to city hall in front of god and her mom and everybody. They roll into the back of the car to the tune of  _ Wouldn’t it be Nice _ and Liam thinks -  _ it would, wouldn’t it _ \- before rucking up her dress and kissing her soft stomach.

Harry giggles, a breathy, delirious thing. She doesn’t stop, because he knows how and where to kiss her now, the parts of her body that melt to his touch. In between the mundane indignities of life, there is a sacred respite he finds in her body.

“We haven’t christened this car yet,” she says as the track bleeds into  _ California Girls _ . Her entire dress is on the floor with her bralette alongside it.

“You don’t want to honeymoon in Jamaica?” teases Liam. His boxers are pulled low on his hips and he’s painfully hard. Harry hooks her leg behind Liam’s knees and looks over at the glove compartment where he furtively stashed lube and a few condoms earlier.

“I know you planned to honeymoon here,” she says. It sounds a bit tight in a way Liam wishes he wasn’t too horny to analyze. She loves it here -  _ they _ love it here. It’s a honeymoon every day, since they got this all sorted. He leans over and rustles around in the glove compartment for his supplies.

“It’s true. I don’t even know where Jamaica is, to be honest,” he says. Harry snorts and throws her hand over her face.

“Oh my God. It’s in the Carribean,” says Harry. Liam closes the glove compartment and drops the supplies between her legs.

“Don’t know where that is either, to be honest,” he says. “Knees up?”

“Unbelievable,” she replies. Then, she shimmies out of her underwear and pulls her legs closer to her chest. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

Liam drizzles lube between her cheeks. She shivers and lets out a little moan.

“Yeah, I know,” he says. Harry closes her eyes with a little smile.

“We should um - without a condom. Just. . .as a honeymoon treat,” she says.

Now, it’s Liam’s time to shiver. They haven’t ever done  _ that  _ before. To his knowledge, they’re both clean - he hasn’t had sex with anyone else lately, and all of her work is online - but it still has seemed risky to do it unprotected. 

_ I’m a cork on the ocean. . .floating over the raging sea. . .how deep is the ocean. . . _

He doesn’t know this one. Harry flings her elbow over Liam’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss.

“Please,” she says into his mouth. She bucks up against his thigh, damp at the tip of her clit. “Let’s try.”

Liam kisses her back, hand tight at her tit. He knows she wants - but she can’t mean -

_ One of these things I’ll be until I die. . .one of these things I’ll be until I die. . . _

She cries out when he penetrates her with his fingers. He works her until she relaxes, until the musical litany fades, until the tightness behind her eyes disappears.

“Okay,” he says, guiding himself inside her. “We can try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to not_d for ruining my life by suggesting I incorporate themes from Rude Hours by Liam Payne into this chapter. I love and hate you. Your punishment is now being melancholy and tender about Rude Hours.
> 
> Very interesting, the lyrics to these Beach Boys songs. . .hm. Nice marriage. . .shame if anything. . .happened to it.
> 
> (Tallahassee AU y’all)
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, and subscribing :)


	7. No Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heavy stuff in this chapter. Content warning for gender dysphoria, self-misgendering as self-punishment, blood, reference to past transphobic violence, and unintentional self-harm.

The little test stick shakes in Harry’s hand as she waits for the result. She feels demented doing this – of  _ course _ she can’t get pregnant – but she’s had a niggling feeling in the back of her mind all week that just won’t let her go. Liam has fucked her four times without a condom now and her brain is saying – it  _ believes – _

“Negative,” the stick says with a little frown.

Harry drops the stick into the overflowing trash and turns on the sink with her palm. She washes her hands fervently, unable to look at herself in the mirror. The water doesn’t feel hot enough to get her clean, so she turns it up as hot as it will go. The pain feels good – it feels  _ real _ . She digs her sharp nails into her palm as she thinks, cruelly –  _ you’re a man. You don’t have a fucking womb.  _

Fuck – why can’t  _ he _ just be  _ normal _ ?

_ He’s _ startled with Liam gently knocks on the door.

“Harry? You alright?” he says. His words are a bit slow; he’s obviously been drinking. Harry’s frustration and shame immediately redirect towards this new target.

“I’m fine, Liam,”  _ he _ says through gritted teeth. Harry shuts off the water and wipes  _ his _ hands on the towel. A streak of blood smears onto the white fabric, which only enrages  _ him _ further.  _ He _ drops the towel and inspects his fingers, trying to figure out where the blood is coming from. With a great shudder,  _ he _ realizes it’s coming from too many places to count.  _ His _ cuticles and hangnails are picked clean and pink like raw meat.

The harsh feelings in  _ him _ \- God,  _ no _ , in  _ her, her, her  _ \- evaporate as she watches a rivulet of blood spill out of the cuticle on her thumb. It runs down her arm and drips down onto the floor. She sinks down onto the cold tile and starts to cry. God it hurts so much –  _ everything  _ hurts so much.

“You don’t sound fine,” says Liam plainly. Harry sucks the blood off her thumb like a child.

“I need band-aids,” she says with a little cough. “They’re in my – fuck, my nightstand I think.”

Harry listens to him root around in the drawers as she sucks the blood off of her other fingers. The taste in her mouth is foul, iron and salt and mucus. No matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to stop crying.

Liam doesn’t knock after he finds the band-aids. He pushes inside the bathroom, obviously unsteady on his feet, bandages held tight to his chest. His face crumples when he sees Harry on the floor, pathetically cradling her own hands. He crouches down until he’s at eye level and rests the box of bandages by Harry’s feet.

“Harry, what happened?”

Harry shakes her head, grabbing the box. She opens it and dumps out all of the bandages on the floor so it’s easier to root around for them.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she says as she sorts for six of the right size. Then, she remembers her manners. “Thank you, though. For the bandages.”

Liam nods and sits down as though the apology was an invitation to stay. He grabs Harry’s hand and splays it out on his own palm.

“Did you get in a fight? Did someone try to hurt you?”

Harry pulls her hand away, shaking her head. She picks up a bandage and opens it with her teeth.

“When would I have been in a fight?” she says after spitting out the wrapper. It feels insane, bandaging wounds that she caused herself in front of someone concerned for her safety. Some sick part of her wishes her small injuries weren’t her own doing so that she wouldn’t have to justify herself to Liam.

“When you went to the store earlier,” says Liam. He scoops some of the too-small and too-large band-aids back into the box. “Thought someone might have given you trouble.”

“No, thank god,” says Harry with a large sniff. She wipes her face on the back of her newly bandaged hand. “Just - got a little too enthusiastic with nail care, is all.”

Liam nods, scoops up the paper shreds left over from the bandages, and turns towards the trash to throw them away. Harry’s heart contracts when she remembers the pregnancy test on top of the trash pile. 

“I don’t understand,” says Liam. He squeezes his eyes shut tight and opens them wide, a please-sober-up look Harry knows all too well. Liam thinks he’s drunker than he is because he doesn’t realize Harry has lost her mind. Harry hangs her head and slumps against the wall, defeated.

“It’s mine. I was - Christ.” She wipes away another tear streaming unbidden down her cheek. “I was just being weird. Don’t worry about it.”

Liam fishes the test out of the trash, inspecting the result.

“You didn’t think it was going to turn out positive though, right? Like. . .that’s not possible. . .is it?”

Harry curls her arms around her knees and hugs them tight to herself. Her hair falls over her face as she rests her cheek on her thigh.

“No. It’s not,” she says in a muffled voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this chapter originally on a very tough day. If you are trans and you have experienced any of these feelings, you are lovely and brave and strong. Take care and I love you <3


	8. See America Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to anyone familiar with Floridian geography if I got anything wrong. This chapter pairs best with the song it's based on so I highly recommend listening to it :) Hopefully from context clues it's clear what happened before Liam got on the Greyhound bus.

Liam is trapped on a dirty Greyhound bus and it feels like it’s the end of the world. He’s surrounded on all sides by Florida’s finest – smelly fishermen, sweaty service workers, prostitutes, and angry families of six. He opens his phone camera and takes an unsmiling selfie. Everything about him looks like everybody else, down to the circles under his eyes and the damp hair plastered to his forehead. Maybe it feels like the end of the world for everyone else, too.

He shouldn’t have been doing any of the things that landed him on this bus. Not the drinking or the swerving or the speeding. He shouldn’t have let the ‘check engine’ light glow yellow every day for three months and he shouldn’t have called Harry crying to get him out of jail. Liam runs his hands over his face, eyes pricking with tears. His stomach swims at the memory of Harry promising in a monotone voice to pick him up in Inglis. The queasiness intensifies remembering the answer he gave to the policeman about who he was calling from jail.

_My friend._

Liam pulls his hands away from his face and inspects the ring on his left hand. Five months in and the white gold band is already dented from his long shifts at Arby’s. He calls it a wedding band less often than he probably should considering the fact that he and Harry _are_ legally married. Still, _both_ the words “husband” and “wife” have produced _enormous_ fits of sulking when Liam has tried to apply them to Harry. This has made it nearly impossible to talk about their marriage without imagining Harry’s face crumpling so – he doesn’t. Harry is still his _friend_ , his _roommate_ to everyone in Liam’s life as if they were never married at all.

There’s a hangnail on his left ring finger and it’s driving him crazy. He bites at it again, _knowing_ that it will bleed and stay sore and ragged. Tomorrow that same finger will have another fucking hangnail because he couldn’t let alone. He’ll put a bandage on that finger before work so he doesn’t get blood in the food and his coworkers will see it, which means they’ll see the ring, and he’ll feel all mixed up about whoever asks _How’s Harry_ first.

The people who have met Harry at work think she’s a man, and Liam can’t correct them because it doesn’t feel like his place. Lately, he’s been trying to find bits and pieces of himself in the visibly queer people he runs into at work. He pays attention to the way they walk, the way they speak, and the ways they behave around one another with so little care about anyone watching. It’s easy to see Harry in all of them, but very difficult to see himself. Sometimes, his relationship with Harry makes him feel like an outsider to the entire world.

The sun is setting over the flat expanse of highway ahead. Liam leans his forehead against the hot window. A sign flashes past – _Inglis Exit: 2 miles._ Two miles away from having to explain to Harry that he has no driver’s license _again_ and no car _again_. It’s hard (but doable) to share a car between the two of them; when they don’t have one, Harry goes stir crazy. She won’t tell Liam half of the thoughts that are in her brain, but they eat her up when she’s confined to the house.

He bites the ring when they pull into the Inglis exit. It’s a habit he’s picked up from Harry after seeing her do it a thousand times. Harry never says what she’s thinking about when she bites her ring, but Liam's always, always thinking about her. Liam pulls the ring into his mouth and holds it there like a piece of hard candy. She’s going to be very angry with him when they meet at the station.

Finally, the Greyhound pulls in to the Inglis stop. Harry is waiting on a bench outside with her legs crossed daintily. One of the straps of her red spaghetti tank is flopped down on her shoulder. She’s filing her nails with her phone resting on her knee and it’s such an unbearably lovely sight that Liam almost forgets his anxiety. He texts _I’m here!_ with a bit too much enthusiasm. She sees the text on her home screen, looks up at the bus with a frown, and types back _I noticed._

Liam scrambles to the front of the bus when it finally stops and runs off in a way that’s probably rude. Harry stands up with folded arms. She doesn’t open them for an embrace when he walks over, but he hugs her anyway.

“I’m really sorry,” he says into her shoulder. Harry gives out a great, irritated sigh.

“You were sorry last time, too,” she says. Liam holds her tighter, caught up in her scent, her softness, her voice, her _everything_. Caught up in this thing that they share, the only part of his life where he doesn’t feel like an alien far from home.

“Yeah. I know,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit stream of consciousness type writing and I hope it wasn't too much tell and not enough show. Sometimes I just let my fingers say what they're gonna say and it's fanfiction so I don't edit it out. We have fun here. Anyway, happy Sunday, I hope you're having a great one. Thanks to all of my readers and subscribers - you are keeping this piece chugging along and it's really exciting to be crawling over to the other side of the finish line with all of you.


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